


Make a Mercy Out of Me

by Woosh_Official



Series: it's a Fallen London/Minecraft Youtube au [15]
Category: Fallen London | Echo Bazaar, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Gen, Jack-Of-Smiles mention, The Irish Lads - Freeform, anyways yeah flondon, fallen london AU, hey. hey rtgame fandom. WHAT THE FUCK?, im going to cry and scream and cry because i had to redo these tags and thats so fucking hard to do, why is it just his full name where did you even get that information-
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:22:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27706214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woosh_Official/pseuds/Woosh_Official
Summary: Artie finds his profession has put him in high water, and his roommates aren't too fit to help him out.
Series: it's a Fallen London/Minecraft Youtube au [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1717144
Kudos: 11





	Make a Mercy Out of Me

**Author's Note:**

> RTGAME FANFICTION I FEEL LIKE THIS IS ILLEGAL
> 
> Anyways this is fancy London AU so everyone has fancy London names:   
> Arthur "Artie" Dansen (RTGame)  
> Sean "Seppin" Ticae (Jacksepticeye/Sean McLoughlin)  
> Kevin (CallMeKevin, name unchanged)  
> Nogla (Daithi De Nogla, name unchanged)
> 
> Irish lads in Flondon! What will they do? (Be dumb and commit crimes)

He enjoys what he does.

Arthur walks down the cobbled sidewalk of Mulloch Street, checking his findings from his little… _ bout _ with the church. Wine, always good to have, some drops of honey—oh that’s gonna excite his roommates, well, most of them—jade fragments, and the coveted cross he got the priest to forsake in a fit of fury against the Four. He makes sure not to hold it up too high, knowing  _ someone  _ is going to take offense from it, but the light catches it just fine clutched to his chest and Arthur can inspect it all the same.

Solid gold, with linings of jade and aquamarine. This, like every other cross he’s sold—he sought down every last man of the lord in Spite and...ah, he hates the word he’s thinking of… _ persuaded them otherwise _ for some reason he couldn’t remember—is gonna be worth a pretty penny, at least four hundred echoes. It  _ should _ be, at least. Lately, he’s found fewer and fewer buyers willing to pay for the sacrilege, having sold the last one to a devil with a false promise of a stored soul after hours of being rejected. Maybe he missed something? A new bullshit law, possibly. Whatever it is, it’s driving him out of business.

Arthur is at the gate of the bazaar within the hour, checking the contraband list and the wanted posters with fading calm. What he finds does not ease his mind. In fact, it does the opposite.

**NOTICE:** _All crooked crosses are to be denied and reported. Any persons who attempt to sell a crooked cross is wanted. Reward is—_

“ _ 900 echoes! _ ” 

He slams the door of the apartment he shares as he shouts, his anger naturally replaced with a wicked kind of laughter that no one can discern. “Those  _ bastards  _ put 900 echoes on my head! Do they think that I’m not solid in my bargaining? What?! I’m out of a fucking payload now, thanks to that!”

Arthur’s roommates barely look up from what they’re doing, but their ears are perked up, so it doesn’t matter. 

“To be fair, you  _ were _ selling sacrilegious items,” perks Seppin, cat eyes not moving from his newspaper, “but fair play to ya. You’ve got a hell of a bounty, mate, might wanna move out before Constable Nogla here arrests ya for black market trade.”

“I wouldn’t do that to Artie, you know that,” Nogla, who’s got the most riding on this conglomerate of criminals, pipes up. “I’ve kept a hell of a lot hidden for you lot, don’t beat around the bush.”

“Oh  _ shut _ it, Mister “Spy Of The Law”, you fucking would if it gave you a promotion.” Kevin puts down the bottled soul he was inspecting and snaps at the man in the expensive lounge chair Arthur had bought with his winnings, for  _ himself _ , but he doesn’t mind Nolga using it. “The only reason we’re here and not in prison is because  _ you _ , out of confusion, sold your soul to Seppin.”

“Hey! You know how I feel about that story! It’s the only soul I ever got, okay?!”

_ “Stealing souls should be your fucking job!” _

Artie can’t take the shouting of his roommates anymore. He’s out of the apartment before anyone can protest, since they’re all too busy arguing to help him deal with his little wanted problem. His head hurts. He needs a drink. 

——

The bar closest to him is on the most popular cat-catching street in Spite, and unfortunately enough the cats can smell the disgrace on him. He’s told all he can to the cats to shoo them off, but they never stop bothering. They walk with him, rubbing against his legs, long tails brushing against his fingers as they sway. 

_ You got any secrets, Dansen? _

“I’ve got nothing new. I’ve told you my story. Though, crosses can’t be sold at the bazaar anymore.”

_ Oh, that’s gotta be a blow. Say, how’d your friends take it? _

“Used it as an incentive to argue, which I don’t mind.”

_ Ah. And now you’re gonna get yourself drunk? _

“That’s a fucking statement.”

_ You’re not? _

“Well—“

_ Thought so. _

The cats continue to follow him in silence as he walks, eyeing each other and whispering amongst themselves. It reminds him of the cat he had a few years ago, a soft spoken one who didn’t have many secrets. He loved that cat, always looking at things with such curiosity, wanting to learn and keep that knowledge he stored.

_ Did you hear about the Jack Case? _

That stops Artie dead in his tracks. He hasn’t heard that name in a while.

_ I’m guessing you haven’t.  _

“That’s because I don’t go looking for my past, thank you.”

_ Oh, come on now. You aren’t even a  _ little  _ intrigued? What, baby’s got trauma? _

“You don’t get to say that to me, fekker.” He starts walking a bit faster. He doesn’t want to be near these bastards anymore, and the bar is a minute away, so it’s best to just keep going and ignore the shit being said to him.

_ That’s true, sorry. But here’s the thing. The case got solved. _

“I don’t care.”

_ What do you mean you don’t care! You spent ages in prison for Jack crimes!  _

He makes it to the bar, ignoring the cats, and shoves himself inside before the beasts can press him further. Enough about the Jack case. He solved it years ago, when he got out of it and Kevin got in. Artie will hear about it from Nogla later. 

——

A few meads and a small buzzing later, he’s back at the apartment, draped on that one bit of luxury he has and fiddling with the cross. The bent metal is smooth up until the sharp turn where it was hammered, gold dulled and edges sharp enough to tear skin. The priest had done a passionate job on this one, screaming about how his god hath forsaken him and crying with each swing. He’d crumpled to the floor in sobs, and Artie had swiped the cross and anything else he could grab before the man could come to.

This cross was no use to him anymore. At some point these were the most valuable things to him out of a heist, but now he needs the jade and the honey more than anything. He could probably pawn this off, somewhere on Mulloch street or something, but he doesn’t really want to. There’s something special about this one, maybe because it’s his last legal one, maybe because it’s just been a weird day, but he can’t seem to bear letting this one go. He fiddles with it for the time being.

Seppin looks at him funny from across the room. He’s still reading that newspaper, likes he’s trying to act busy and important even though Artie knows he’s currently out of a job. Last they’d talked, the devil was considering zailin’ for some dumb reason. Fair play to him, but it’s odd for Seppin to just go out and do things. He’s meticulous and planning, careful and somewhat manipulative, as much as he doesn’t want to believe it. 

“What’re you doing wit’ that thing?” he finally inquires, cat eyes glancing between the cross and the man holding it. Artie gives him a half awake  _ dunno _ and lets the treasure fall, clattering onto the creaky floor.

“Thinkin’ bout what to do with it.”

“It’s just makin’ ya sad, man. You can’t just sit there being fekkin depressing all the time! What else did you get from the heist?”

Artie looks at the bag he dropped at the door earlier that day. A purple stain on the burlap makes him think maybe one of the bottles cracked, but he doesn’t mind.

“Few echoes, jade fragments, couple bottles of wine that prolly got cracked, and some honey if anyone wants it. Not too bad if I do say so myself. Just mad about the fuckin’ cross, really.”

Seppin crosses his legs and looks at the burlap sack on the floor, making a small face of disgust. “Thought I smelt bullshit in here. Glad Kevin got his fuckin’ fix though.”

Artie laughs at that, breathy and bright. “We should really start weaning him off. Gonna become like that Soot guy down the road, if he keeps on going.”

“ _ That _ we will make sure he doesn’t become.”

Arthur smiles, still a little tipsy from his hot shot at the bar. Its half past two, everyone else is either asleep or out doing Business, and here these two are, going along as nothing ever happened. Seppin has the good wine bottle open, cat eyes cheery as he pours himself a drink.

“Things are good.”

Artie nods. “Things are good.”

**Author's Note:**

> I still feel like this is illegal, I mean theres no tag for RT, its bizarre-
> 
> Anyways I was super inspired to write RT into Fallen London for no apparent reason and I did, but I can't include one without the other 4 so yeah  
> Sorry about not adding Terrorizer I have no clue how to write him ahjsdhjaskhjak
> 
> Feel free to yell about this to me on tumblr (wooshofficial) if you have any questions and watch RTGame thank you goodnight
> 
> (also thanks solar for helping me pick RT's profession)


End file.
